Falling
by Mireille DeMaupassant
Summary: Harry Potter is stuck in an endless cycle of lust with Draco Malfoy...but is it really only lust...? Just another random one shot. Please r&r!
1. chapter one

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters in this story, just the plot.

**The Third Degree of Masochism**

_Only a few more minutes and I'll be away from him,_ I think to myself as I round the corner of the seventh floor. Just as I reach the portrait of the Fat Lady, I hear his voice from the other end of the hallway.

"Harry," he calls in that low drawl of his.

A cold shiver runs down my spine. I take a deep breath and struggle to continue on, reiterating to myself that he doesn't affect me—he doesn't control mebut I can already feel my defenses growing weak. _You're not going to get me,_ I think, _not this time._ But he calls again.

"Harry," he says, his tone more aggressive this time. He knows I am battling myself to resist his temptation. And I know he is taking great pleasure in it.

"Just keep walking," I mutter to myself. "It's as easy as that." If only this were true. Suddenly, the portrait of the Fat Lady seems miles away and there is a great weight on my shoulders, weighing me down. In what seems like an eternity, I take the last few steps to the Fat Lady and quickly mumble the password. The painting swings open.

"_Immobilus corpus!_" I hear him shout, just as I begin to step into my house common room, and I am rendered completely motionless.

_Shit,_ I think as I stand there, helplessly, listening to his footsteps grow closer and closer, knowing that this is where it ends.

It was all going so well. I had devoted every fiber of strength in my body to avoiding him; skipping meals to avoid seeing him, forcing myself not to look at him during the classes we had together, building mental walls around myself and telling myself they were impervious to his manipulation. For two days, it had seemed as if my efforts were paying off. I had neither seen, nor heard, anything from him, but somewhere, deep inside of me, I knew it was too good to be true.

"This was a fun game, Harry," he whispers into my ear, "but I'm through playing." His hand creeps up to my shoulder and he spins me around. Not expecting the sudden action, I stumble over the doorway and fall into the empty common room. He follows me in. The portrait swings shut behind him.

I scramble to my feet. "I don't want you here," I blurt out, reaching into my robes and pulling out my wand. "Get out," I say, "now."

He raises an eyebrow and a smirk springs to his face. "Are you going to curse me, Harry?" he asks with light chuckle. I raise my wand and point it directly at the center of his chest.

"I'll do it," I say, "I swear I will."

He takes two steps towards me and closes the gap between the tip of my wand and his chest. "Go ahead, Potter," he says, softly, looking me in the eyes. "Do it...if you can."

My heart begins to race as I search the depths of my mind for any spells that can be of any use. But I can't think with his silver eyes cutting into me, piercing into my soul. The silence between us grows as I begin to become desperate for escape. Slowly, a devilish smile creeps to his thin lips. He knows.

He grabs my bare wrist and, very slowly, he pushes my arm down, bringing himself nearer to me. I can feel my will to resist grow weaker and weaker as he grows closer. When he stops, our faces are inches apart and I am barely an inch from melting into mush in his hands. He puts his hand on my cheek and closes the gap between our lips. A shiver runs through me as my last shred of opposition crumbles and I fall victim to his bittersweet attraction.

He pushes me to the wall and my body goes limp as he presses his against mine. His lips wander to my neck. A small whimper escapes me when I feel his tongue against my flesh. His kisses roam further upward, toward my ear, leaving a trail of warmth along the side of my neck. "Stop fighting it, Harry," he whispers against my ear, "you know you want it, too."

Suddenly my hands are shaking. The desperate desire to feel his skin under them is growing impossible to contain. I bite my lip to distract myself from the feeling of pleasure coursing through my body as his lips move back down my neck, past my collar bone. He reaches up and proceeds toundoing each of the buttons of my shirt until the fabric falls open before him. Without hesitation, he begins to kiss a path down my chest. _Oh gods, _I think as his tongue nears my nipple. I want so badly to scream his name but I can't. I won't let myself.

Finally, his lips make contact with the bud of flesh and I lose it. "Oh, Draco," I moan, thrusting my hands into his silvery tresses. I feel him chuckle against my skin as his kisses continue to flow downward. Before long, he isstanding up again, in front of my, undoing the fasteningsof my trousers, kissing and sucking my neck, again. "Draco, please," I moan again. "D...Don't..." But I can't finish.

"Don't what?" he whispers, send his hot breath against my skin. His hand slowly slides into my trousers and past the elastic band of my boxers. I throw my head back andanother deep moan escapes meas his hand rests on my erection.

"Don't stop," I whisper, to him.

The fight is over. I've given in. I've fallen...again.

**Feech's Note**: Hmm...I feel as if it should be longer. Chapter 2? Maybe? Let me know what you think!


	2. chapter two

**Disclaimer: **All of the characters and settings and junk in this story belong to J.K and not me...sigh

**Warning:** some indication of self harm...just letting you know...

**Chapter 2**

I lay silently on my bed, staring restively at the scarlet fabric of the canopy above me, thinking of him. It's been two days since our encounter on Thursday, and he's taken me twice since then. My eyes wander from the canopy to the window. The moon is shining brightly in the sky, sending a pale light through my bed curtains (left open because of the steadily increasing summer heat) and onto my thin scarlet sheets. I sigh but it quickly turns into a chuckle as the memory of our most recent meeting, just a few hours ago, comes back to me. He had cornered me in the hallway shortly after dinner. That devilish look on his face told me exactly what I was to expect. I fought him off for as long as I could, which, as it turned out, wasn't very long at all.

_Why do I always give in to him?_ I ponder to myself.

I chuckle, again, at the pointlessness of this question, as I've always known the answer. I want to. I want to give in to him, no matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise. I want him to take full control of my body, even knowing that I'm just going to feel empty and used afterwards. Why do I do this to myself? Who knows? Maybe I'm some kind of a masochist and enjoy being used for my body and thrown aside.

_Or maybe I love him._

The thought had taken me by surprise, creeping out of the depths of my mind. _No,_ I think to myself, _I can't love him. There's nothing to love. It's just sex._ I shake my head, confirming the mental statement.

Then, another question slips into my thoughts. Why? Why does he love to torture me and tease me, knowing what the eventual outcome of his actions will be?

Maybe _he's _some kind of sadist, and takes pleasure in my struggles.

_Or maybe he..._Before I even let myself finish the thought, I sit up and crawl out of my four-poster bed, leaving it right there, on my pillow. Then I grab my invisibility cloak and leave the dormitory. Five minutes later, I find myself on the front steps of the castle. The grounds are beautiful coated in the moon's pale glow. My eyes scan over them, taking them in, as a cool breeze whispers past me. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, before leaving the steps and heading south, to the lake. As I approach it, I find that I am not the only one who was in need of a nighttime stroll.

He is standing at the lake's edge, wearing only a pair of silk pajama bottoms, deep jade in color, peering into the inky black water. I open my mouth to call out to him, but before I make a sound, I am hit with the realization that I am still under my invisibility cloak. Feeling, suddenly, curious, I continue to walk to the lake,coming to a halt some waysbehind him. Then, I see them, and my heart stops cold in my chest.

Ugly red lash marks, fading but still quite visible, cover the fair skin of his back. On his sides are what look like old bruises. I take a few steps closer, to examine him further. A few more bruises on his abdomen catch my eye before my eyes travel to his arms. Almost glowing in the moonlight are several thin silver lines...cuts. I reach out and put my hand on his shoulder. He jumps at my touch and turns around. "Who's there?" he demands, looking almost frantically about himself. It is then that I realize, for the second time tonight, that I am still under the invisibility cloak. Without a second thought, I turn on my heel and run back up to the castle, not stopping until I am back in my dormitory.

When morning comes, images of what I saw are as vivid now, in my mind, as they were last night. At breakfast, I can do nothing but stare at him. The obviously expensive long sleeved button down shirt covers him, but I can still see the scars through the black fabric. I can still see the marks. I shudder. "Are you okay, Harry?" Hermione's voice says from my right side, "you haven't touched your breakfast."

I turn to her and smile politely. "Yeah," I answer, "I'm just not very hungry. I think I'm going to go back to the common room. I just remembered I have to finish the last bit of my essay for Binns." Without waiting for her reply, I get up from my seat at the table and leave the Great Hall. I have no intention whatsoever of going back to the Gryffindor common room.

I slowly walk down the first floor corridor, my ears open, waiting. It isn't long before I hear the familiar sound of his Italian leather shoes behind me. Within moments, his arms are around my waist, his lips brushing roughly against my neck. "Going somewhere?" he asks, sending his hot breath down the collar of my t-shirt. Before I answer, he pushes me through a door that ends up leading into an empty classroom. I lose my balance and fall backward, slamming my back against the edge of an old desk. His slender fingers begin to work their way past the hem of my shirt as his lips explore every inch of my neck. I moan out loud and thrust my fingers into his silver blond hair. I won't be putting up a fight. Not this morning.

I pull his face to mine and kiss him, hard on the lips. His tongue slides into my mouth, connecting with my own. It is his turn to moan. My hands travel down to the collar of his shirt, aching for the feeling of his skin against them. My fingers dance around the small silver fastening until, finally, it comes free. They do this a second, third, and fourth, time, slowly exposing more and more of his porcelain skin. When I get to the fifth button, he pulls his lips from mine. "What are you doing," he asks, chest heaving. I don't answer but bring our lips together again and continue to work my way through the rest of the buttons. "No," he says, pulling away from me, again, "stop." He takes a step back. I look at him. His chest is heaving,his lips swollen.

"Draco, what are you..." I start, but the look on his face stops me. His mouth is hanging open, and his eyes are filled with...fear? Before I can say anything, he runs a hand through his hair and backs out of the classroom, not even bothering to fix his appearance.

o

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" I whisper to myself, pounding my fist into the tiled green walls of the Slytherin shower room with each muttered oath. Steamy hot water runs down my body as I stand under the serpent shaped shower nozzle. "Fuck!" Thoughts of you are constantly swimming in and out of my head. The way you moaned when I touched you, when I kissed you.

_Where did I go wrong,_ I think angrily to myself, _what did I do?_ I slam my fist into the wall, again, in frustration as no answer comes to me. Just yesterday, you were in my arms, begging me for more, pleading for me not to stop. You were helpless. You were weak. You were mine. And now today¼today¼"Fuck!" I shout slamming my fist into the wall again. Suddenly, the hot water making its way down my body turns cold. Have I been in here that long?

I reach out and twist the knob protruding from the wall, bringing the running water to a halt. Then I turn around and grab a towel from the rack to the left of me. With the towel wrapped around my waist, I walk out of the shower room and traipse down the hall leading back to the boys' dormitories. The room is empty when I enter it, which I am thankful for. I go straight to my bureau and pull out a pair of black pajama bottoms. After I put them on, I walk over to the mirror to examine myself. I grimace at the image looking back at me.

My body would be perfect¼if it weren't for the bruises and scars. The marks of an angry father. No, not angry. Disappointed. _You are weak,_ he had said to me the night he had given them to me, _and stupid. How can you consider yourself a member of the Malfoy family?_

_He's right you know,_ a voice in the back of my head says, _you are weak. You're even losing Potter, and he was the one thing you were sure you could control._

My fist clench in anger as I remember what had happened earlier today. The way you suddenly began to take control. _Never again, _I think, _never again. I'll show you who has control of this situation._ Suddenly, there is a tap at my window. I walk to it and open it. A snowy owl flutters in, landing on my bed. I immediately recognize her as yours. A piece of parchment is attached to her leg. I go over to her and extract it from her. _Draco,_ it says, _we need to talk. Meet me in the Room of Requirement at midnight._

I chuckle. A perfect opportunity has just dropped into my lap. And this time, I'm going to make sure it goes the way I want it to. I glance at the clock sitting atop my bureau.

**Feech's Note:** Well, what do you think? Shall I wrap it all up with another chapter? Let me know!

**Feech's more recent Note:** Okay so the second part that I jsut recently added, was suppose to be the third chapter but it wasn't long enough so I made it part of the second. Now I can finally wrap this thing up and I don't have to stray from my original plan of only having three chapters (well, my original plan was to have it be a one shot but that kind of died...) Anyway, chapter three coming really soon, now that I've got the troubled spot out of the way! Peaches!


	3. chapter three

**Chapter 3**

I had spent the rest of today thinking about this morning, about the look you had given me. There was no mistaking that look, nothing else it could be mistaken for.

Fear.

Fear?

Fear. But why? That was the question. What is he afraid of? I pace the length of the room, running this morning's events through my mind, over and over. Whatever it is, it has something to do with those scars. Why else would he have fled so quickly? Where did they come from? Who? I stop in my tracks as I am hit with the answer to my own question. All day long, I had pondered this; how could I have not seen it before, when the answer is so obvious. There is only one person in his life that could do that kind of damage to him, one person he would allow to do it.

I look at my watch. It is now five minutes of twelve. I give the room another once over, making sure everything is perfect. It is empty, except for a large bed, sitting in the center. This time, I don't plan on letting him get away.

Suddenly, I hear the click of the door opening. I turn around just in time to see him enter the room, wearing a pair of black pajama bottoms and a black sweater. He is early: his first mistake.

The look of defiance on his face sends a pain to my heart. He know I am on to him, and I know he is going to try to prove me wrong. _Not tonight, Draco,_ I think.

I watch his eyes scan around the room They stop for the briefest of moments when they land on the bed before continuing and resting on me. I can see the question in them. I say nothing but, reach into my pocket and pull out my wand. Aiming at the door behind him, I mutter a sealing charm. A shower of sparks surrounds the door as it becomes unable to be opened.

He looks, first, at the door, and then at me, raising a slender eyebrow. "First a bed and now a sealing charm," he says. "Just what do you think is going tohappen tonight, Potter?"

He says this in a tone of mockery but it is laced with true uncertainty. I say nothing in response. Wasting no time, I walk over to where he is and stop only when our faces are inches apart. "Who did it to you?" I demand.

"I have no idea what the hell you're talking about, Potter," he says. This act of his is lasting longer than I thought it would.

"There's no need to lie," I say, softly, "I've already seen them."

I see the corner of his mouth twitch, just slightly. He opens his mouth to speak but, no sound comes out. Is he thinking of another lie? It's far too late now; he's been silent for too long for me to believe him. Finally he sighs. "It was you, wasn't it," he whispers, "that night at the lake."

Slowly, I nod. He falls silent. "Who was it?" I ask again.

A scowl suddenly leaps to his face. "Don't make the mistake of thinking you know me, Potter," he spits out. "My life is _none_ of your business." He turns to leave. Before he can even move an inch, I put my palms flat against the wall, on either side of him, blocking his escape. "What are you-"

I cut his words off with a rough kiss. I can feel him resisting but that only makes me kiss him harder. I said I wasn't going to let him get away and I plan to keep my word. I tilt my head slightly and force his lips open with my tongue. I can feel him slowly start to give in. I take my hands from the wall and place them on his slender hips, bringing them right up against my own. He moans.

_Yes, _I think, _just let go. I know you want to._ I have no desire to control him. Only to have him accept me as more than just an escape, for I know now that that is why he seeks me out.

My hands slide up to the hem of his sweater and, hesitantly, begin to pull it up. I feel no form of resistance so, I continue, sliding my hands against his smooth porcelain skin. The sweater slides over his head and our lips part, briefly, so as I throw it onto the floor.When his arms come back down,they land around my neck.I kiss his lips again and then leave them for his neck. I feel his throat vibrate as he moans my name.

"I guess this means you win," he says, dejectedly.

I stop kissing his neck and bring my face up to his. "What are you talking about?" I ask.

He looks at me in confusion. "Isn't that what this is all about? You telling me to come here and seducing me?" I furrow my brows in question. What is he saying? "Aren't you doing this to prove that you can beat me at my own game?"

I bring my face closer to his. "It was never my intention," I almost whisper to him, "to seduce you, _Draco_." I kiss his lips softly. "I brought you here, to show you that I was through playing games." I kiss him again. "I want you, Draco." I look him straight in the eye. "I...love...you."

There. I've said it. I've said the words that have been trying to force their way out of me since that first time he'd taken me. The words that I have denied for so long. They are out...and now all I can do is wait for his answer.

I see his mouth open as if he is about to say something but, he quickly closes them again. A scowl slowly creeps onto his face. I know what is coming. "You really are an idiot, Potter," you say, coldly. "you've taken something totally meaningless and mistaken it for love. And, now, I suppose you're expecting me to confess my love to you?"

I take a deep breath. Looks like the act is back on. "I know why you're doing this, Draco-"

"No, _Potter_," he interrupts, "you know nothing." Having said those words, he tears himself from my grasp and walks to the door. As he pus his hand on the knob, he hesitates. Then, he turns back to me. "You forget, Potter, that I am a Malfoy." And he leaves the room.

I am alone, again, with my thoughts. Not sulking, but calculating. His words would have hurt me, had there been any truth behind them. There couldn't have been.I sigh. This is the second time today he's fled from my presence, just when I was getting closer to him. Too close for him. I smirk smugly to myself: an idiom I've picked up from him. _I'm onto you,_ _Draco, and it's only a matter of time before I get what I want. What I know you want, too._

**Author's Note:**Alright, this is getting out of control!Ugh! What am I doing to myself! I was so ready to end it, right here (with a different ending, of couse) but then I get hit with this...THING...and suddenly I'm writing somehting totally different from what I had in mind and...well i guess you know what this means: the pleasure of knowing there will be another chapter. Peaches!


	4. chapter four

**Chapter 4**

How quickly the tables have turned. Just days ago, it was I that was avoiding him; now it seems the opposite is true. In the week that has passed since our last rendezvous, I've seen almost nothing of him. He skips meals to avoid me, and when he sees me approaching him in the corridors, he turns the other way. When we have class together, he doesn't speak to me, save out of necessity, and even then it is as if nothing has happened between us.

He says he doesn't love me. If this is so, then why is he making such an effort to be away from me? I chuckle to myself. It can't be true. I refuse to believe it. His kiss, last night, was too sweet, his moans, too…genuine, to be an act. There's something else, something he's not telling me, that is making him deny me.

_"You forget, Potter, that I am a Malfoy."_

That is where he his wrong. I know very well that he is a Malfoy, and it is because of that that I love him. His Malfoy charm, his Malfoy arrogance…his Malfoy sex appeal. It's all of these things and more that make me go half crazy when I'm not around him and completely insane when I am. I hope he doesn't make the mistake of thinking I've given up because I've chosen to indulge in his little game for a while. I'll find out what it is that he is keeping from me, and I'll make him see that he isn't fooling me with his "Malfoy" façade.

Without warning, someone nudges me, wrenching me from my thoughts. I look up, to find Dumbledore standing in front of the mass of students, with his arms raised, signaling silence. The Great Hall quickly quiets down, as everyone is eager to hear what he has to say.

"Just a reminder," the old wizard says. "As many of you may know, Hogwarts will be having its annual feast, in honor of the graduating seventh years in just a few days time. Seventh years will have that day off, spend time with their families. Parents will be invited to spend the evening before the feast at the castle. The feast is for seventh years, only, but, all lower years with sibling sin the seventh year are also invited. Now, having said that, please continue with your dinner." And he sits down and immediately immerses himself in a conversation with Professor McGonagall.

The noise level in the Great Hall crescendos past its usual volume, and instead of last night's homework, words of the feast are on everyone's lips. From what I can tell, some are anxious and others are excited, but it isn't them that have captured my interest. My attention is on Draco, who is sitting at his table, surrounded by all of his usual band of Slytherin cronies. They, like everyone else, are talking animatedly about the upcoming feast. None of them seem to notice that he isn't taking part in the spirited chatter. Instead, he is staring, dismally, down at his half eaten roast beef. The little color in his face has completely vanished. For a long time, he is motionless. Then, very abruptly, he slams his fork down onto the table and rushes out of the Great Hall, attracting several bewildered stares.

-o-o-o-

My hands begin to shake uncontrollably as I storm down the empty stone corridor. I grab each one with the other and hold them tightly until the shaking stops. When I reach the stone wall leading to the Slytherin common room, I mutter the password and hurry inside, crossing the long, dimly lit room, to the flight of stone steps that lead to the dormitories. I run up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and throw myself into my dormitory, slamming the door shut behind me. "Goddamit!" I shout through clenched teeth as tears begin to well up in my eyes. I send a swift kick to my trunk, but the action succeeds in doing nothing but sending throbbing pain through my foot. I groan loudly as I grab my foot in pain, falling on my bed. "God damn you, Dumbledore," I muter as I rub my foot through my shoe. "You and your stupid fucking feast." I had completely forgotten about it until this evening.

Unable to sit still, I get up and begin to pace the length of the room. _Why,_ I think to myself,_ why is it that everything in my life has to turn into absolute shit? First I have to deal with fucking Potter on my ass, and now my father's been added to the mix!_ I let out another frustrated groan as my hand falls upon something solid and heavy, sitting on my bureau. Before I can think, my body reacts, and I hurl the think at the wall behind my bed. There is a loud clunk as it makes contact with the stone wall.

All kinds of emotions are bubbling up inside of me. Anger. Hate. Fear.

_No,_ I think quickly,_ not fear. I am a Malfoy. We fear nothing._ I try hard to make myself believe these words but, somewhere in the back of my head, a small voice is screaming, _Bullshit!_ My hands begin to shake again. I know what I want, but I refuse to let myself have it. I lean back against the stone wall and slide down until I'm sitting on the floor. My arms fall forward and land on top of my knees in front of me.

"Nonsense," he had said, when he had seen my scars, "acts of weakness. Only a weak man inflicts pain on himself, rather than on those who deserve it."

I am no weakling, and I refuse to give him the satisfaction of being able to name me as such.

_But you are weak, _the same small voice says, now sound annoyingly like my father, _you know that. Look at what's happened with Potter._

Oh, God. Potter. I hadn't even thought of you, which is something of a surprise to me because, for the past week, you've been the only thing on my mind. Ever since that night, in the Room of Requirement, I can't stop thinking about you. About what you did…what you said. It's been a full week since then. You haven't said a word to me about it, on any of the few occasions that we speak to each other. Part of me wants to believe that you've finally gotten the message but, the rest of me knows better. The rest of me knows to expect that you're probably just biding your time, planning your next move. After all, you do still have my sweater. Well, you better not pull anything while my father is around, or I'll be sure to make you pay. I run my fingers through my hair and sigh heavily, resting the back of my head against the cold stone.

_"I…love…you."_

What on earth could you have been thinking? Love me? And you expected me to say it back? I could laugh at how preposterous the thought is. Me loving you. Me loving, even. I am a Malfoy. We do not love. My father's taught me that.

**Feech's Note:** Okay, so I'm not sure what's going on in this chapter. To be completely honest, it feels like incoherent rambling in some places, to me. Let me know what you think. And, I made **two** errors back in chapter three. If you can spot them, you get to make a guest appearance in one of my fics! Peaches! Oh and in case you haven't noticed , chapter five (the real chapter five) of Kiss is up! does happy dance


	5. chapter five

**Chapter 5**

The owls had gone out last night, and by this morning the faces of their loved ones pleasantly surprised everyone. I was not shocked to find Mrs. Weasley beaming at me when I entered the Great Hall, eight month old baby Rupert sitting contently on her hip. "Oh, Harry," she said, "It's so wonderful to see you again, dear!"

Now the six of us—Mrs. Weasley, The Grangers, Ron, and I—are sitting at the end of the Gryffindor table. Mrs. Weasley is explaining to us why Mr. Weasley couldn't be here, stopping every couple of seconds to keep Rupert from throwing a handful of eggs across the table. I try to give a semblance of attentiveness but my mind is clearly elsewhere. My eyes are looking past Mrs. Weasley to the Slytherin table, behind her. Draco is sitting at the center, looking almost livid. His normally beautiful, porcelain skin is a sickly alabaster and the rings around his eyes show a lack of sleep. He stares down at his plate as he pushes the food on it around with his fork, never once bringing it to his mouth. His so-called loyal friends are nowhere to be seen. Sitting across from him is none other than his father, dressed in his usual black robes. I notice that there is a large space on either side of the both of them, separating them from the rest of the Slytherins and Slytherin alumni. It is very clear that everyone is Slytherin house knows not to interfere with the business of Lucius Malfoy.

I see Malfoy's lips move as he lifts his head to look at Draco. Without looking up, Draco stops the motion of his fork. When Malfoy ceases to speak, Draco pauses for a moment before shaking his head. I begin to wonder what that was about but I don't get too far as Dumbledore soon rises from his seat at the faculty table, demanding silence. All heads, including my own, turn to look at him.

"On behalf of the faculty here at Hogwarts," the headmaster says, "I would like to extend a welcome to all parents and family members of our graduating seventh years. I am sure you are all as proud as I am of their accomplishments." The Great Hall immediately erupts into applause. Dumbledore smiles and waits for it to die down. "Now," he says, "I would just like to remind you all that feast will commence at eight o'clock this evening. Lunch will be served as usual, at noon. Other than that, you are all free to roam the school at you leisure. Feel free to visit your children's classes though, I must ask you to try to refrain from disturbing any of our younger students, as this is still a regular school day for them." And with a slow bow, he takes his seat.

The noise level in the Great Hall rises again, and it accompanied by the scraping of benches as people begin to leave.

-o-o-o-

"Come, Draco," my father says to me as he straightens out his robes, "let's see if you've accomplished anything worthy of my praise."

"Yes, father," I mutter, and I leave my cold, uneaten, food to join him. My stomach has turned into a lead weight and my forearms are aching with the sting of freshly made wounds.

Last night had been terrible, but I would give anything to go back to it. I couldn't sleep for fear of what was to come the next day so, I let myself have what I had been wanting ever since Dumbledore had first mentioned the feast. The first cut had been small, just a scratch on the wrist with the very tip of the blade that had brought forth a couple droplets of blood. The second had been deeper, and the third deeper still. I had continued in this manner until both of my arms were covered with an array of dark red streaks, all of which bled beautifully. Then, I sat on my bed and watched the blood run in little rivulets across my skin. For the first time in months, I was genuinely calm. I wasn't worried about Potter, or my schoolwork, or even my father. None of that had even existed to me. There had been only me, the blade, and the blood.

Those feelings have long since dissolved and, at the moment, my heart is beating at a rate which I am certain should have killed me by now. I follow my father wordlessly as he makes his way to the dungeons. When we arrive at my Potions classroom, we find Professor Snape sitting at his desk, going through a pile of parchment that I can only assume to be essays from a different class. He looks up as soon as we enter the classroom. I take a seat on top of one of the tables and watch anxiously as my father approaches my teacher.

"Lucius," Snape says with a smile, "how good it is to see you, again."

"Yes," my father replies, "how are you, Severus?"

"Quite well, but I think I am right in assuming that that is not your foremost concern."

My father smiles. "You know me too well."

"Let me just get young Draco's file from my office." My father nods. Snape pushes his chair back from the desk and disappears through a door at the front of the room. He emerges seconds later carrying a worn down manila folder, full of old pieces of parchment. "Here we are," he says, handing it to my father. "I'm sure you'll be quite pleased with his work. He has performed most commendably these past seven years."

My father takes the folder, resting his serpent headed cane against Snape's desk, and begins to look through it. As he does so, Snape catches my eye and gives me a very discreet smile of comfort, letting me know that I have nothing to worry about while I am here.

"Severus," my father says, looking up from the folder, "if you were to…rank all of your students, where would Draco stand?"

"Why I am sure he is deserving of nothing lower than the topmost position."

"Hmm." My father takes another look at the contents of the folder. Then, he closes it and hands it back to Snape. Then he takes his cane. "I think I've seen enough. You'll have to drop by the manor, sometime, Severus. Narcissa would love to see you again."

"It would be a pleasure, Lucius. Good day."

As we leave Snape's room, I let out a small sigh of relief, but it isn't long before I am once again overwrought with trepidation. Thankfully, our visits to Charms and Transfiguration go much the same as Potions, though without the warmth of Snape's comfort, and I walk out of McGonagall's classroom thinking, _Yes, only one more to go._

When we arrive at my Arithmancy classroom, Professor Vector is standing at the back of the room with a large stack of books in her arms. "Be with you in a moment," she says, without even turning back to look at us. I watch her as she places the books, one by one, on a bookshelf that takes up the entirety of the back wall. Finally, she puts the last book away and walks up the aisle between two rows of desks. "Ah," she says, bringing her palms together in front of her deep violet robes, "you must be Mr. Malfoy. I am(insert first name)Vector."

"Charmed," my father replies, curtly.

"Well, I'm sure you are most anxious to know how Draco is doing in my class."

"Oh, yes, _most_ anxious."

Professor Vector smiles warmly. "You'll be happy to know that he is one of my top students. He's very attentive and focussed in class, though he can be a bit unsociable towards the other students."

"And his rank?"

"His rank?"

"Yes."

"Hmm," Professor Vector says, pensively, "I don't usually rank my students, but I suppose I could say Draco is top student in his class and maybe…second in his year?"

My breath gets caught in my chest. My heart stops cold.

"Second?" my father asks.

"Yes," Professor Vector answers, "that sounds about right. You should be very proud of him."

My father is silent for a moment. He takes a deep breath. "Just out of curiosity," he says, "who is the top student of Draco's year?"

"Oh, er, Hermione Granger. I don't know if you know her. She's a student in one of my other classes. Brilliant girl."

My father is able to retain his stony disposition but I can see his hand tightening around the serpent head of his cane. He is not happy. "Yes, well, I think it's time I take my leave."

"Oh, well, it was nice to meet you Mr. Malfoy."

"Likewise." He turns to the door. "Come, Draco."

I come out of my daze and slowly follow my father out of the classroom into the hallway. My entire body is numb. My breath comes out in short gasps. _Oh, God, _I think, as we walk down the stone corridor. _Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God._

It's all over. Everything I've put myself through, all the hard work I've done. All of it was for nothing, brought down in a matter of seconds.

The lunch bell rings and students begin to rush out of their classrooms, into the halls but we do not stop. Someone bumps into me. My father pushes past the black current, leading me further and further away from everyone else. We reach an old wooden door, in a seemingly abandoned hallway. "In," my father commands, holding the door open. I obey. He follows me into what looks like an old classroom and shuts the door behind him, locking it with a sealing charm. Then, he begins to pace back and forth in front of me.

His nostrils are flared in anger as he takes deep, heavy breaths through them. "Tell me, Draco," he says, twisting his wand in his hand, causing it to emit sporadic bursts of red sparks, "did you hear what Professor _Vector_ said about you, just now?"

"Y-Yes, father," I mutter, barely audibly.

"Can you…repeat it, for me?"

"She-She said I was top student in her class."

"And in your year?"

"S-Second," I whisper.

"What was that? I couldn't quite hear you."

"Second," I repeat, a little louder.

"That's not all, is it, Draco. Second best to whom?"

I take in a ragged breath. "Hermione Granger."

"That's right," my father says, "Hermione Granger. A _mudblood_." He stops pacing and brings his face close to mine. "Tell me, Draco. How do you feel about being outsmarted by a mudblood? Are you proud of yourself? Because, if it were me, I would be hanging myself right about now."

"Well, I-I tried my best, fath—"

Before I can finish, he raises his hand and brings it down onto my cheek, sending me into one of the desks. My lip collides with the edge and it bursts, filling my mouth with the taste of blood.

"Don't you dare tell me you did your best," he screams, "because if you had done your _best_, we wouldn't be here, right now!" He walks to me and grabs a fistful of my hair, wrenching my face back to his. "Do you know what 'second best' means, Draco?" he snarls, "Hmm? Do you?" I shake my head. "Well, allow me to enlighten you. The term _'second best'_ is another way of saying '_greatest failure'!_" He hurls me into another desk. This time, pain erupts in my ribs as my side smashes into it and I fall, face down, onto the floor. "And there is no room for _failures_ in the Malfoy family. It seems I'm going to have to teach you that lesson again, since you didn't learn it the first time."

-o-o-o-

_Where is he?_ I wonder to myself as I glance over to the Slytherin table for the fifth time. I haven't seen him since this morning. All day long, I've kept an eye out for him but it's as if he's disappeared off the face of the planet. I haven't seen his father either. _What if he's in trouble?_

_No, _I tell myself, _that's not it. He's just late._

I don't even believe that. Suddenly, I spot a familiar face at the other end of the Great Hall. "Excuse me, guys," I say to Mrs. Weasley and the others before leaving the table and running to where she stands at the entrance. "Olean!" I call out, and the dark-haired Hufflepuff fourth year turns away from her group of friends.

"Hello, Harry," she says, smiling at me.

"Have you seen Dra—Malfoy?"

"Malfoy?" she repeats, "I don't think so, sorry."

My heart sinks. "Alright, thanks any—"

"Oh, wait!" she exclaims. My head perks up. "I did see him, a few minutes ago, actually."

"Where?"

"Um, I was on my way out of Ancient Runes and I think I bumped into him. He was following a man, probably his father 'cause they looked so much alike. Neither of them looked too happy, either."

"What?" My heart begins to pound in my chest. "Olean, which way were they headed? Do you know?"

"Yeah, it looked like they were going to the old hallway that no one uses anymore, you know the one on the seventh floor."

"Listen, I need you to get Madame Pomfrey, Professor Dumbledore, and as many teachers as you can to that hallway, as fast as you can."

"Why? Harry, what's going—"

"There's no time to explain. Just do as I say. Go!"

Before she can say another word, I run as fast as I can out the door to the nearest staircase. I climb the six flights without pause, taking them two steps at a time. _Please, please, be okay,_ I think as I race down the deserted hallway, _please, be okay. _I turn the corner, into the old hallway, and try the first door I see.

Nothing.

I try the second door.

Nothing.

I try the third door. It's locked. I start to move on to the fourth door but before I can even step away from the third, I hear a crash come from within. "Draco," I say to myself. My hand goes to the knob, twisting it violently, but in vain. I take a step back from the door and hurl my body into it, smashing my shoulder into the wooden surface. The door doesn't budge. I step back once more, lift my foot and bring it down on the door. Still nothing. I hear another crash come from the other side of the door.

"Dammit!" I shout, pacing back and forth, ready to pull my hair out. "Why won't you open?" Suddenly, I remember the magical wooden object currently in the back pocket of my jeans. "Ah," I sigh, grabbing for it and pointing it at the door. "_Alohomora_!" Nothing. "Er, _expeli_—no, can't disarm a door. Um…um…" I am pacing again. I need a spell to get past this door, but I can't think. _I'm not going to lose him, _I think, grabbing fistfuls of my own hair, _not to a stupid door! I can't._ My head feels as if it's about to explode

"OH, JUST LET ME IN!" I shout, desperately, pointing the wand at the door a third time.

As soon as the words leave my lips, the door shatters into millions of splinters, with such a force that knocks me into the opposite wall. Too frantic to be astonished at what just happened, I quickly regain my senses and run through the doorway. I see the tall figure of Lucius Malfoy standing, with his wand raised, in front of another, writhing on the floor. The familiar white light of the Cruciatus is spilling from the tip of his wand. _Draco._ Before I can think, my own wand is up. "_EXPELIARMUS!"_ I shout, and Malfoy goes flying. There is a loud crack as his head makes contact with the opposing wall. Then, I run to Draco, who is still twitching and writhing.

I grab his shoulders and turn him onto his back. His face is streaked with blood and tears; black bruises encircle his eyes; his robes are torn—I can see blood seeping through the fabric. His mouth his moving but no sound comes from it. "Draco, what are you…I can't…" And then I realize…

I take my wand out and point it at his throat, muttering the counter of the Silencing Spell that was put on him.

The room is immediately filled with the sounds of his screams, his sobs. "Sorry—so, sorry--" he shouts, over and over again, gasping and wheezing. "Never—never again!"

The words tear into me, into my heart, into my soul. "No, no, no," I say to him, "Draco, it's okay. It's okay. It's over."

"Please—" he continues, "please—no more—no—"

"Draco," I shout, "it's alright. It's over. Please stop. Please!"

But he doesn't. I wrap my arms around his body and bring him close to mine, half trying to console him, half trying to muffle the sound of his agonized screams.

Suddenly, I hear footsteps. It isn't long before the robed figures of Professors Dumbledore and MacGonagall, followed by Olean and Madame Pomfrey, come bursting into the room. The first thing they see is Lucius Malfoy's body lying, motionless, on the classroom floor. "What's going on in here?" MacGonagall demands. Then, she catches sight of Draco and me. "Potter, what is the meaning of this?"

"Professor," I say, looking up but still clinging to Draco's body, "you have to help him! He won't stop! I told him it was okay and he won't stop…"

"What did you—how did this—"

"Step out of the way, please, Minerva," Dumbledore says, authoritatively, and he steps past the witch and kneels beside Draco and me.

"Professor Dumbledore, please," I beg, "do something, anything. I can't take it anymore."

Dumbledore looks over his shoulder. "Poppy," he says, remaining unnervingly calm, "go down to the dungeons and tell Professor Snape to prepare a very strong dosage of the Draught of Peace and bring it to me, immediately."

Madame Pomfrey nods and is off, without a word.

"Harry," Dumbledore continues, now looking at me and taking out hi wand, "I need you to return to your dormitory, at once. I will be there to speak with you momentarily."

"But Professor," I protest, "what about—"

"Draco will be fine," he interrupts, "now, go. Minerva, please escort him."

Before I can say another word, MacGonagall is at my side, grabbing my arm with a surprisingly strong grip.

"No, Professor you don't—"

"Come on, now, Potter," she says, ushering me to the door-less entrance of the classroom. "You heard Professor Dumbledore."

Feech's Noot: Alright, well that only took about six months, right? I'm going to apologize for the crappiness of the end of this chapter. I just failed an English test and I'm not in the best of moods right now. And to Olean, I hope the character was to your liking. The last and final chapitre, numero 6, is well on its way….in my head. Hopefully, I'll get it done before the New Year but, I'm not making any promises. Peaches! And don't forget to review! Oh, by the way, what is Professor Vector's first name?


	6. chapter six

**Chapter 6**

The sun slowly creeps into the sky, as I rest my head on this cool stone wall, not completely sure of why I have chosen to come back here. I was let out of the Hospital Wing only last night—after one solid week of being nearly comatose and another of being bedridden—under Dumbledore's orders. He was "well aware of the fact that my absence did not go unnoticed and thought it best that I return while the eyes of the student body were turned away." I left with every intention of going straight to my common room, but my feet seem to have thought otherwise.

When I got here, the first thing I did was marvel at how quickly and completely everything has been restored. The door is repaired and put back on its hangings, the desks are put back into the neat rows of five. It's as if nothing had ever happened…almost. Of course, I can still see everything just the way it was before the teachers had gotten to it. I can still see the desks, laying upturned and many of them broken, on the floor. I can still smell the sweat in the air, still see the blood all over the walls. My blood. I can still hear my screams, still hear my father's taunts. There isn't a single memory charm in the wizarding world that's powerful enough to erase those memories.

Over there, between the third and fourth desks of the first row was where my father had first lain hands on me. One slap, right across the face. I can still feel the sting of the back of his hand, hear the ringing in my ears that ensued. Then, he threw me into one of the desks, bruising my rib. I was punched, I was kicked, and I was twisted, pulled, pushed, and broken. Then, he began to use his wand. My father never liked to get his hands dirty, no matter how much _fun_ he was having.

A bitter laugh escapes me as this thought crosses my mind.

That afternoon, my father flung me into desk after desk, with a flick of his wrist, determined to overturn them all with my body. Once he succeeded, he went for the walls, throwing me up against them all, but stopping to crush me with an invisible weight at each and gibing.

_Have you learned your lesson yet, Draco,_ he hissed,_ have you?_

I cried, I screamed, I begged for mercy, said anything I thought would make him stop, but I might as well have been talking to a rampaging dragon. Lucius Malfoy is not the merciful type.

One broken hand, three broken ribs—including the bruised one from earlier—and a body almost completely covered in bruises and hex marks, many of which that have yet to fade, were the results of that part of my "lesson", but the worst was yet to come.

After throwing me against the last wall, my father let me fall to the floor. My body felt like it had been run over by the Hogwarts Express. I was bleeding from everywhere, broken everywhere; my mouth was filled with the taste of my own blood. I thought it was finally over. I _hoped_ for it to be. In my mind, I _begged_ that to be the last of it. And it probably would have been, had it not been for my incredible luck. Somehow, the sleeve of my robes got caught somewhere above my elbow, revealing what I had done to myself the night before, and before I could realize even that, his foot was on my broken hand, pinning my arm down to the hard stone floor.

_What's this, Draco_, he asked me. I was struggling to keep from slipping out of consciousness and could barely comprehend the question, let alone come up with an answer that would satisfy the beast.

He put more weight on my hand. I cried out and tried to pull away from him, but I was weak. _I thought I told you to put an end to this nonsense._

_Father…please…_I begged.

_Or maybe,_ he continued, _this is the problem. Is that it Draco? Are you too busy hurting yourself to study? Do you like pain?_ He took his foot off my hand. _Well, if it's pain you want, dear son of mine, it is pain you shall have._

_No, Father. Please—_but I was cut off with a silencing charm. Then, he raised his wand again.

After that, all I knew was pain. Blinding, excruciating pain, enveloping my entire body. Every inch of my skin was being pricked with white-hot needles. Each of my wounds—old and new—was ripped open, afresh; my bones were on fire. Oh, how I screamed and screamed, and yet no sound came past my lips. I felt my vocal cords start to tear in my throat, but I heard nothing.

My father's Cruciatus was unlike any other. It brought the kind of pain that couldn't be generated simply from anger and disappointment, the kind of pain that could only come from pure hatred. There was no accident in the intensity of the curse, no loss of control. He wanted me to suffer as much as I did—probably even more, knowing him. I could feel it in the way he stood over me, the way he watched me as I writhed in pain. He wanted me to die. And for the first time in my life…I wanted death, too, with every fiber of my being.

I can feel tears sting the corners of my eyes as my mind returns to that single fleeting moment. _Oh, God, please let me die…_I begged, _let me die._ I wanted it to end. All of it. I didn't want to…feel anymore. I just wanted peace. Then, like an answer to my silent plea, it was over. I thought I _had_ died, but when I opened my eyes, I could make out some shapes and soon realized that I was still in the classroom. I saw another shape—a new shape—come to me; I felt arms wrap around my broken body; I heard a distorted voice speak somewhere above me, a voice I knew. Something was muttered and at once my ears were filled with the sound of screaming and crying. I heard the voice call my name. Then I realized that the screaming was my own. I wanted to stop, to say that I was okay now, but I couldn't. All I could do was scream as my mind and body continued to live in the memory of my father's beating.

The arms wrapped around me pulled me tighter against a body. My face pressed against a chest and I breathed in a smell, a smell I knew quite well. Your smell. You held me close to you, rocking me back and forth, and I began to make out the words you were saying. You were telling me that it was over, that I would be okay. And in that moment, I felt…something. Before long, more voices entered the room and soon, your touch, your smell, and your voice were all gone. Someone poured something wet and foul-tasting into my mouth. I spat it out, but whomever it was only poured more and forced me to swallow. Immediately afterward, I felt myself begin to calm down. More and more of the foul liquid was forced into me until my eyelids closed, seemingly of their own accord, and I slipped into unconsciousness.

When I opened my eyes again, an entire week had passed and I was in the infirmary, bandaged up almost from head to toe. Madame Pomfrey was in the other room and heard me stir. She came to my bed, telling me how good it was that I was finally awake so she could start to heal me. She said Dumbledore had told her to refrain from doing any magic on me until after the effects of the Draught of Peace had worn off. I didn't know what she was talking about; I couldn't remember anything from what had happened before that day. I didn't say anything to Madame Pomfrey though, I simply sat quietly as she removed the bandages and started to heal me, little by little. There was only so much she could do for me with magic, she told me, the rest would probably last for a very long time, if not forever, and that was not including all of the emotional damage that I've probably developed.

Everything came to me at that moment and, as Madame Pomfrey took parts of my body and waved her wand at them or poured potions on them, I relived it all. The pain from it all was still so fresh that I winced at the memories as they came. Madame Pomfrey thought she was doing something that hurt me and asked me what was wrong. I told her it was just a headache. She looked at me for a moment, then, and gave me a look, one that said she knew the truth, but she wasn't going to say anything.

When she was done, hours later, she left me with at least fifteen bottles filled with potions for me to take at various times of the day, a set of pajamas, and the knowledge that I was not to leave my bed, if I could help it. Normally, I would have protested but, at that time, I didn't much feel like I _could_ leave my bed, even if I had wanted to.

The first half of the week slipped by me—probably due to the fact that I was unconscious when I wasn't taking a potion—but as I grew healthier, I found myself to be more inclined to stay awake during the day, meaning I had more than a little bit of time on my hands. I spent most of my "free time" thinking…about you and what I had felt that afternoon when you held me. I still haven't figured out what it is. I know what it could be, but I don't think I'm ready to let myself think that, yet.

_No…_

By now, the sun is up, and the cold of the stone floor has seeped through my thin pajama pants and sweatshirt. I rise, leaning on the stone wall for support, and take a step towards the door but the knob begins to turn on its own. _Who would be coming here at this hour?_ I wonder, as I watch the door swing open.

"Of course," I mutter aloud, when I see your head poke into the doorway. You enter, dressed much like me in pajama bottoms and a tee-shirt, and stand awkwardly in front of the door. "Fancy meeting you here," I say, coolly, yet unsure of how to act toward you.

"I…" you stammer, "you…I still have your sweater." And you hold your arm out, showing me the black sweater I had forgotten in the Room of Requirement weeks ago. "I just thought I'd return it. You know, before we have to leave tomorrow."

"Hmm," I say, nodding. My eyes follow you as you cross the room to one of the desks and put the sweater down on top of it. You stop to examine something else on the desk, but it isn't long before you quickly turn your face away and start to head for the door. I wonder why you did this but before my mind can ask the question, it arrives at the answer. "What's the matter, Harry," I ask, "did the teachers not get all of the blood off of that desk?"

You stop in your tracks and turn to me. "Draco…I…"

"Did you think I wouldn't talk about it?"

"No, I just didn't—"

"Because it's not like I can _not_ talk about it," I continue bitterly, "now that the whole bloody school knows what happened that day. They're all probably in their little dormitories right now, gossiping about how Draco Malfoy's father slapped him around."

"Draco," you mutter, "I'm—"

"Don't apologize," I cut you off, "it's not your fault."

I take a few steps to the desk at the front of the classroom and run my hands over the polished dark wood.

"It's not your fault either," you say, quietly.

My head pops up and I open my mouth, about to tell you I hadn't been thinking it was my fault, but no words come out as I realize that that would be a lie. A moment of silence passes between the two of us.

"How…how are you feeling?" you ask, breaking it.

I shrug. "I'm not dead."

You say nothing in response and shift your weight from foot to foot. "So do you…are you…"

"I never did get to thank you," I say quickly, ending your awkward attempt to make conversation. "You know, for…"

"It was…nothing. I was just…"

"You saved my life."

"Yeah…"

I watch you take several steps across the room and stop at the window, leaning on the sill. In all the time you've been here, you haven't once looked me in the eyes, like you used to. Now, it seems like you're _avoiding_ them. Has something changed?

"While I was in the hospital," I say, following you to the window and leaning back against the wall to the right of it, "Madame Pomfrey talked about my father. Kept me…updated." You look up, giving me the questioning look that I was expecting. I respond with a look of my own, telling you I'm not afraid to talk about my father, if that's what is on your mind. "I hear he's in St. Mungo's," I continue. "You really did a number on him."

"Yeah," you slowly reply, "I guess I got caught up in all the excitement and went a little overboard with my disarming charm."

I chuckle. "A _little_ overboard? You nearly shattered his skull, throwing him against that wall. He's been in treatment ever since. The healers are having a hell of a time getting his brain back to normal."

"I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"Don't apologize. It's no more than he deserves." I sigh and look at the ceiling. "It's been something of a blessing to your side, though, hasn't it."

"What?"

"You haven't heard? He's been spewing up random tidbits about the Dark Lord left and right, naming death eaters, confessing things he's done. Stuff that should make _your _job a little easier."

I look at you. "Are you still…" you start to ask, "…I mean, were you ever…or, are you…" You sigh. "What side are _you_ on?"

I shrug. "I don't know. I don't think I have a side, anymore." I pause. "Why? Are you going to try to convert me to the light?"

"What? No, I just…no." Another moment of silence passes. "I guess they'll be carting him off to Azkaban, then, if he ever gets well enough." Without thinking, I laugh aloud at your statement. "What?" you ask me, looking up from the view of the grounds.

I look at you with a raised eyebrow. "Do you really think they'll be able to hold him in Azkaban?"

"Well, I would think that—with all the stuff he's done—and you said it yourself, he's confessing it all. Why wouldn't they take him?"

I shake my head at your question. "Taking him won't be a problem. I have no doubt that he'll be _taken_ to Azkaban. But when his trial comes around, he'll be out for sure."

"But what about—"

"Harry, listen to me. My father has the ministry in the palm of his hand. If anyone can get out of going to Azkaban, it's him. Even with the new Minister." My gaze returns to the ceiling as the harsh reality of my own words sets in. "He'll probably pay off all of _the right people_ and then make up some cock and bull story about how his confessions were really just a manifestation of his _subconscious desire to redeem himself_, when he goes on trial," I add bitterly. "Slimy bastard."

"Oh," I hear you whisper from beside me. I close my eyes for a long time, opening them only after hearing you speak again. "So…" you say, hesitantly, "so, what are you going to do?"

"What do you mean, what am I going to do?" I reply. "There's nothing I _can_ do."

"You're not going back home, are you?"

"I have to."

"No, you don't—"

"Yes I do, Harry!" I snap at you, turning my head in your direction. I can feel the blood begin to boil in my veins. The look on your face in one of bewilderment, as if I had caught you off guard. I take a deep breath in attempt to calm myself down. "Yes, I do." It's not you I'm angry at, I tell myself. "I can't run from him, Harry. No matter where I go, he will always find me."

"But if you go back you'll…he'll…"

"I know." I sigh. "Besides," I say more calmly, "even if I could leave…where would I go? We leave on the Hogwarts Express tomorrow morning, Harry. I'm not going to find a place to stay with only a day's notice."

"Well," you say, almost inaudibly, "If you wanted, you could…"

"What?" I ask. "Stay with you and those muggles?" I let out a hearty chuckle. "Wishful thinking, Potter," I reply quietly. "That's all that is."

Silence falls upon us a third time. This time, voices from the grounds penetrate the stillness—voices of students enjoying their last day at Hogwarts before the summer holiday, filled with excitement for the coming year—voices of fellow seventh years, reflecting on their years in the castle, woeful with the knowledge of not having another year to look forward to. It's amazing how quickly the time has passed, how much has happened since first year…how much has changed since the time when everything seemed to be perfect.

I exhale deeply and let my eyes focus on you for a moment. The pensive look on your face as you stare out the window tells me your thoughts are along the same lines as mine. Shining through the window, the morning sunlight seems to frame your head and torso. It really brings out the slightly bronze tone in your skin, giving it a rich, warm glow.

_Maybe…_

"You know," I say, causing you to, again, look away from the mountain landscape, "my father wasn't the only person Madame Pomfrey kept me informed of, while I was in the hospital."

"Oh?" you ask, raising yourself from the sill.

I nod. "She told me about the people who visited me during that week I was unconscious, as well."

The corner of your lip twitches just slightly. "Draco I…"

"She said you came to visit me every day that week, Harry," I continue, "that you would stay at my side, sometimes for hours at a time." You open your mouth to reply, but close it again when no words come. "I used to have nightmares—fits almost—when the Draught of Peace would wear off. Madame Pomfrey told me you were there, though, comforting me while she went to get more." I pause. "But…when you found out I was awake, you stopped coming. Why?"

"I…didn't think you'd want to see me," you say softly, "you know, after…everything."

Having nothing else to say, I reply with a simple, "Hmm."

You lower your eyes. I lean my head against the wall, staring blankly across the room. "Draco?" Without a word, I turn to you. "How…bad is it?" you ask tentatively, standing to you full height. "The…damage."

I give you a faint smile. "Like I said," I reply, "I'm not dead."

You stand in silence for a moment, looking from my chest to my arms, as if you're trying to see through my clothing. Then, for the first time today, your eyes come to meet mine. "Can I…"

I don't need to hear the rest of your question to know what you want. That's what has been on your mind all this time, not my father. I raise myself from the wall and stand in front of you. Then, I grab the bottom edge of my sweatshirt and pull it up and over my head, letting it drop to the floor. Finally, la piece de résistance has been revealed.

Your mouth drops slightly. You take a step closer to me and fall to your knees. Then you bring your hand to my abdomen and place the tips of your fingers on the first thing you see: a large, black, bruise like hexmark. A shiver steals up my spine when I feel your warmth, as I was expecting a cold equal to my own. Very slowly, your fingers trace the edge of the mark and move on to the next one. More shivers, just like the first one, go up my back, across my chest, down my arms and legs, as your hand moves up and down the entirety of my abdomen, running over every hexmark, every bruise, every burn, every cut. Then, there's that feeling again, the one from the other day.

"Draco…" you whisper.

Your other hand joins the first and they both move to my arms, one at each. Your fingers circle around my wrists, pull my arms out, and turn them over. The undersides are covered with dark red lines of raised scar tissue—the effects of my father's Cruciatus on my self-inflicted wounds. These are among the many scars that will take months to heal, and even then, it won't be completely. Your hand shakes as your fingers come to rest at the base of my wrist. You hesitate for a moment before sliding them up my forearm to the first scar. As soon as you make contact with it, though, a sudden, sharp, pain erupts in the area and I pull my arm back, just slightly, having not anticipated it.

"Are these still…" you start to ask, without looking up at me, but your voice catches and trails off.

"Mm-hmm," I respond.

"Oh, Draco," you sigh, painfully.

"It's really not as bad as it looks." I say, in an attempt to console you.

You see right through my lie. "Yes, it is," you whisper, shaking your head. "Yes, it is."

I watch you bring my arm closer to you face, to your mouth, and it isn't until I feel the moist softness of your lips press against it that I realize what you are doing. My breath catches in my throat. You kiss my arm again and again, moving further up and spurring new sensations from within me with each kiss.

"Harry…" I whisper.

"Draco…" you whisper back. Your arms move to my hips as your lips move to my abdomen, kissing each of the scars and bruises you had just been touching. "Draco…" you say again, sending your warm breath to my cold skin, "what do you want?" You rise and my eyelids fall shut as your lips come to my shoulder.

_What do I want?_ I think as I let myself fall deeper into the feelings that come from your kisses.

"Please, tell me."

"What I want," I say finally, as your lips trail up my neck, "I'm not sure…anyone can give to me."

As you reach my ear, your hands wrap around my wrists a second time and you bring them up to rest on your shoulders. "At least…" you whisper into my ear, "let me try."

You press your lips against my ear, my eyelid, my cheek, and finally my lips. A warmth begins to spread from within me and I start to feel again. I can feel your hands sliding from my hips to my waist, wrapping around my body to my back, pulling me right up against your body. I can feel your heat, radiating through the thin fabric of your tee shirt and pants. I can feel your want, your need, as you press your lips against mine. _Do I like what I am feeling?_ I ask myself. _Is this what I want?_

Finally, just as I feel your lips start to relax against mine, I respond. I wrap my arms around your neck and pull you closer, kiss you back, kiss you harder. I want you. I want to feel you. My hands return to your shoulders and push you away. You begin to protest, but by now my hands have already left your shoulders and have grabbed the edge of your shirt. As I pull it up, exposing your bronzed abdomen, I realize how heavily I am breathing, how excited I am. I feel as if this is the first time, when I had sought you out in the showers, that night, after that particularly long Quidditch match; when I had stripped you of your uniform and taken you on the tiled wet floor. That same excitement is coursing through me.

The shirt is on the floor, now, and you are looking at me, questioning me, asking me if I'm ready. I give you a look in return, answering your question. Everything you've ever tried to tell me, everything you've ever tried to show me—I want it all, now. You smile and bring your lips to mine again. I bury my fingers into you spiny black hair and angle my head enough to allow you to part my lips with your own and bring your tongue between them. It dances with mine _en media_ and I moan as your taste fills my mouth. You take a step forward; I take a step backward. Once, twice, three times—until my back touches the wall. Involuntarily, my spine arches away from the sudden cold contact of the stone, drawing me closer to your warmth. But you are more than just warm, you're skin is blazing. You kiss me harder, more passionately. You mutter something against my lips. I don't hear it but whatever it is, I agree.

Suddenly, your hands are leaving my waist, travelling to my hips again. They drift to my front and start to tug at the drawstring of my pants. In less than a moment, I feel the band of fabric loosen. You relieve me of them, without hesitation—my boxers as well—and, when you return to kiss me, I allow you to for only a moment before returning the favor. The next several minutes are dedicated to the removal of anything that keeps our bodies from coming together completely. Pants, shoes, socks, boxers—all of it is taken away until, finally, you are naked and I have given you my back.

I can feel your hands on my body—one on my hip, the other on my abdomen. I can feel your lips and tongue against my neck and shoulders, your chest against my back, the fronts of your thighs against the backs of mine, your hardened length against my arse.

I gasp.

You groan.

We start to rock, slowly and rhythmically. Your hand slides to my cock. You pump, slowly and rhythmically.

I moan.

You whisper against my skin.

"Harry…"

"Draco…"

My hand goes to the wall, clawing at it as the rocking picks up speed. You squeeze my hip. I rock back against you. You thrust. I moan. You groan. I beg.

"Harry…please…"

I want…you thrust. I need…you thrust.

"Harder…deeper…"

You thrust. I feel myself begin to peak. You pump, harder…faster.

"Harry…" I beg, "don't…"

You thrust. I reach my breaking point and cry out as I come in your hand. You thrust. I feel your body go rigid as you come inside of me. Then, your body slumps against mine and we breath slow, deep, cadenced, breaths. You release my cock as my body releases yours and your hand returns to my belly, joined by the other. My head rests against the wall, welcoming the cool relief of the stone touch; yours rests against my shoulder. We remain silent for a long time, both of us enjoying the feeling of the other's naked body, sticky and moist with heat and sweat, rising and falling with our slowly regulating breaths. I feel your head lift from my shoulder. You press your lips against the very end and drag them across my back, stopping every so often to drop a kiss on a bruise or a hexmark.

I close my eyes and let myself fall into the sweet comfort your kisses generate. In this moment, I finally feel the peace I have been searching for, for so long. In your arms, I finally feel warmth after being so cold for so long. Nothing can touch me; nothing can hurt me. And this is all I need.

"Draco," you whisper into my ear, bringing me back from my musings.

I open my eyes and turn my head as much as I can to face you. "Hmm?" I reply.

"Thank you," you whisper.

"For what?"

You smile. "Letting me love you."

I return your smile. You bring your head over my shoulder and press your lips against mine. My hand comes up from the wall and rests on your cheek. I think I might be ready to let you know your feelings are being reciprocated.

_Yes…_

Fin

Feech's Note: Yes! Yes! Yes! Chapter six is complete and posted and you can't hate me. Well acutally, you can because I said New Years and its definitely February. Why the delay? Because I spent my Christmas vacation in UTAH with no computer! So, I apologize and this chapter is my way of making it up. As always, review me tons. I can't wait to hear what you think! Peaches. Oh, and I'm thinking of adding a chapter seven, but I doubt it will be this long. Let me know what you think about that too!


End file.
